Adhere
by NieveDrop
Summary: "Is it that I cannot let go of the past, or it is the past that cannot let go of me?" After a loss, one young woman comes to terms with someone who appears to be still holding on. Only in determining the source of the attachment will both be able to move on. AU
1. 1

_**A/N: **_I know I should be continuing (er, returning to) one before starting another, but life created a series of events that are making it difficult to mentally be in the right place to write the next chapter there. At this point, I don't know where this is going to go, but I needed to write tonight. It's AU, and there may be some odd familial connections, so I hope you can suspend disbelief. I guarantee no updating time frames.

Decided to change this to first person.

_**Disclaimer:**_ Bleach & its characters are owned by Tite Kubo. Story is property of me.

-ND

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**1**

My hands passed along the photo albums that lined the cherry-stained library shelves. Because I never could remember which one contained the beginning of my own life, my hand stopped on one I was positive recounted some year of my childhood days. Removing the album from the high shelf, I opened the cover to read my mother's handwritten notation: _2 ½-3 years old_. A bittersweet smile graced my lips. _This one will do_. I carefully stepped down the ladder, toting the maroon-colored book under my left arm.

Quietly returning to my room, I avoided the creaking floor boards in the hallway as not to create a disturbance in the household. The last thing I wished to do was alert my parents to my movement. They had enough on their minds at the moment. My stealthy gait brought me to my safe haven without incident.

When I closed the door behind me, I noticed the pale pink walls of the room took on a deeper blush from the dull, sunless sky beyond the curtained windows. Even if it had been sunny, I would keep the curtains tightly drawn. With my present mood, it was too soon to allow any light into my life. The desire to let the darkness consume me was too great, too overpowering. However, that desire conflicted greatly with the need to do well on my upcoming exams. I almost made it through all four years at university, and I was looking forward to watching my family's faces of pride at commencement. _The bad timing award goes to…_

Which is why I tossed the album softly on my bed, the book slightly bouncing off the cream-colored quilt. My own body followed immediately thereafter. I needed something to keep my mind positive and alert. Even so, as I settled into the comfort of the bed, I was tempted to close my eyes and allow sleep to take over. How easy it would be to just cocoon myself inside that quilt and hibernate until the all the stress, all the emotion, all the feeling, all the sadness was over. A rueful sigh escaped my lips before I opened the book.

I did not necessarily recall any first-hand knowledge of the snapshots appearing on the pages before me. Obviously I knew it was me—I looked exactly the same, just younger and smaller. But these were not events I independently remembered outside of the photographs and stories my parents told me about them. The pictures captured images that felt like implanted memories of sorts.

There I was in an oversized shirt making a ridiculous pose, thinking I was a model or something. There I was smiling with my mother as I "helped" her make holiday cookies. My child-sized apron and face covered in flour seemed to show I was more of a mess than a help. Turning the page, I laughed at the one of me and my father building a snow fort in the backyard, our cheeks both rosy from the cold. My father was serenely smiling—a less common expression I encountered as I grew older.

Flipping to the next pages, I saw all of the photographs from my third birthday party. The mounds of toys I unwrapped. Squeezing tightly the plushie from my godfather. My wide smile dotted with my baby teeth caused my eyes to squint fully closed. My cheeks puffed up as I blew out the three candles on the snowflake cake my mother baked. And there it was. The photo I had been looking for. Sitting on my grandfather's lap, three of my stubby fingers pointed into the air. But it wasn't the childlike glee that caught my attention; it was the goofy grin on my grandfather's face. My usually gruff, stoic, grizzly bear-like grandfather couldn't look stranger to anyone else who knew him. Yet to me, I saw the overarching pride he felt in being a grandfather—in being _my _grandfather. And I couldn't feel more pride for him swell up in my heart. His fiery temper and bellowing voice were belied by this photograph. He was more a sweet, cuddly teddy bear than anything, and I loved him to pieces. Just as he loved me.

This frozen memory was proof of just how loved I felt whenever I was in my grandfather's presence. He may have never shown this side of himself to anyone else, but I never doubted his love for me. A single, cold tear cascaded down my right cheek. _This is what is going to make today so difficult, so painful_. My lithe fingers traced my grandfather's face in a silent reverie of days to remain locked in the past.

"Rukia," my mother lightly tapped on the bedroom door. "It's time to go."

Without responding to her call, I removed the photograph from the album and reluctantly lifted myself off the bed. I slid the edge of the picture into the wooden frame of my mirror. My lower lip slightly quivered as I preemptively considered it would be best to have a daily reminder of this image of him to replace the one I was about to encounter. Grabbing an embroidered handkerchief from the dresser, I exited the room, my black dress swaying loosely against my calves.


	2. 2

_**Disclaimer:**_ Bleach & its characters are owned by Tite Kubo. Story is property of me.

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2

The car ride was mostly silent and solemn. I watched as my mother reached over to squeeze my father's hand as he drove along the highway. Seeing her squeeze returned was a welcome relief. I was worried he may emotionally shut us out. There were times he could remain stoic for hours, so I was glad to see he wasn't going to completely bury his grief from us. We all needed each other right now, even if we sat in a comfortable silence. There are times when life doesn't require you to be strong; losing a parent is one of them.

We spent the remainder of the drive to the funeral home pondering our own deep thoughts.

When we reached the home, we were greeted by my grandmother. Her face was smiling as brightly as always. It offered gentility and sincerity, which stood in stark contrast to the forced effort of the funeral home to make its guests comfortable. Muted walls in peaches, roses, or blues, upholstered sofas with innocuous floral patterns, and a tissue box available within arm's length of anywhere you sat or stood. I never felt consoled in these places. The sooner we could be out of here, the better.

"Byakuya. Hisana. Rukia. Thank you for being here," she welcomed us with unparalleled grace and charm.

"Mother," my father simply nodded, obviously holding his emotion.

"Yuki." My mother hugged my grandmother with a sad smile plastered on her face.

"Hello, Yuki." I, too, hugged my grandmother. I was the first to call her by Yuki, and generally, the rest of the family followed suit. Her delicate frame belied the outward strength she was exuding on behalf of the rest of us.

When she broke from the hug, she placed her hands on either side of my face. Her expression was one of never-ending pride in me. I always felt that look was unjustified, and her icy blue eyes bore right through me, sending chills up my spine. I suppose we had some sort of connection between us that allowed us to communicate so often without words.

"Hello, Mother." From behind me, I heard a voice interrupt our moment. Yuki's cold fingers broke from my face, and she moved to greet my aunt.

I turned to see the family of my Aunt Yoruichi: the second oldest child of my grandparents, her eccentric husband, Uncle Kisuke, and my two underachieving cousins, Renji and Jinta. Yoruichi and my father were the two middle children of four, and they could not be further apart than night and day. She was quite the social butterfly; she always knew what was going on with everyone else in the extended family. My father, on the other hand, was often the black sheep of the family, due to his sometimes taking on an arrogant attitude with his siblings. As such, the three of us kept to ourselves, and we were usually the last to know anything that happened.

Similarly, I was very, very different from these two cousins—besides the obvious of my dark locks and their flaming red hair. I always excelled in the classroom, and I was involved in many extra-curricular activities, mostly in the arts. I never heard much about how Renji and Jinta did in school, but there was never any bragging about their academic prowess. I believe they did participate in contact sports. Renji was built like a football player—tall, athletic, and strong. Jinta was a bit stockier and did not quite have Renji's height, but he would likely follow in Renji's footsteps. We really had nothing in common.

As Yoruichi pulled Yuki into conversation, I thought I should at least greet my cousins. I knew neither of them would initiate. "Hey Renji. Hey Jinta," I offered with a half-smile.

Whereas Renji responded with a nod, Jinta managed to squeeze out an underwhelming, "Yo."

I tried to address Renji first. "So Renji, what have you been up to?" I was curious as to how he was occupying his time since he finished secondary school…if he ever did.

"Not much," he answered disinterestedly.

Undeterred, I turned to the younger redhead. "How's school, Jinta?"

"It sucks."

_Well. That provided such insightful information._ I sighed and realized further attempts at conversation would lead nowhere.

My feelings of disappointment were soon put to an end when a sing-songy voice interrupted my thoughts. "Oi, Rukia, how are you today?"

Turning to my uncle, I stared blankly at Kisuke a moment. _Really, how am I_? I never did understand his fascination with me, but of the four in that family, he was always the most eager to speak with me, well, my parents and me. I don't think they understood why, either.

"As well as can be expected, Uncle Kisuke," I responded somberly.

"Yes, well, I suppose that's so." I was glad he decided there were no additional words to say and chose to seek out my parents. I shook my head as I knew that conversation would lead to several dead ends as well. Kisuke was a strange duck. For a living, he was a delivery driver for a pharmaceutical company. In his spare time, he sparred with his boys, but he also enjoyed inventing things. Typically, I could count on Uncle Kisuke to provide the strangest, homemade gifts at the holidays. Kisuke was an enigma.

So was my other aunt I saw standing off in the corner. Aunt Kukaku was my father's only unmarried sibling; she was also the only one without children. For once, her messy hair was styled appropriately for the occasion. However, I could see that she wanted nothing more than to step outside the funeral parlor to smoke. With me, Aunt Kukaku ran hot and cold. There was an aloofness towards me I never fully understood. We have some similarities in our personalities and skills, but she chose to focus her attention on Renji and Jinta instead. She was the one who took Renji to get his first tattoo; I'm sure she'll do the same for Jinta in a few years. I've speculated on some of the reasons this distance between us may exist, but to respect her preferences, I try not to dwell on it. Regardless, I watched as my cousins gravitated to her in the corner, and the three of them remained there, looking like a bunch of misfits.

As everyone else was preoccupied, I took the opportunity to walk up to the casket where my grandfather lay. My eyes widened. I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't this. I had been to enough wakes to know that the deceased is usually dressed in a smart suit or, at minimum, a button down shirt. _What was my grandfather wearing?_

"Nice robe there on the old man." I jumped, not having heard my godfather sneak up behind me. "Hey, Snow White."

My father's oldest sibling, Shunsui, was yet another distinct personality in our family. Always laid back and friendly, sometimes a bit intoxicated, my uncle was very likeable. Unlike the cattiness sometimes exhibited by Yoruichi, the standoffishness I encountered with Kukaku, or the indifference of Byakuya, I always could approach my godfather without hesitation. But he had the most ridiculous nicknames for me.

My smile might have grown for the first time as I took in Uncle Shunsui, his second wife, Nanao, and my young cousin, Hanataro. Well, maybe it didn't grow so much for Nanao. I still wasn't sure about her, especially in light of my strong attachment to his first wife, Lisa. For all intents and purposes, Aunt Lisa was still my aunt. But I found Shunsui and Nanao's son, Hanataro adorable. He was still a toddler, so he understood very little of what was going on. Sadly, it also meant he never got to know his grandfather.

"Hi Uncle Shunsui," I excitedly greeted with a big hug. "Nanao." She only received a small hug. But I picked up and spun the little ankle biter, who was unfortunately already getting too big for me. "Hey Hanataro, you are getting so big!" He giggled as we spun. When Yuki cleared her throat, I set down my youngest cousin.

Yuki's strength grew tenfold as she took control of the room. "Thank you all for coming here today." Though her eyes glistened with the tears waiting to fall, her smile lines dimpled stronger. "I'm glad we could all have this chance to celebrate and offer respect to one of the greatest men I have ever known." A playful glint flashed across her eyes. "As you can see, I wanted him to be comfortable, and I didn't see much point in letting a good suit go to waste." Her remark got a chuckle from Shunsui and Kisuke. She continued, "So we have about thirty minutes, then they will take him back to the crematorium. Then I suppose we'll head out to lunch. Again, thank you."

That's my Yuki. Such grace and power. I only hoped I could have one ounce of her strength one day.

As my eyes turn back to my grandfather, I felt the hands of my parents rest on my shoulders. I was glad they were beside me in this final moment of seeing him.

Clad in a casual robe with each of the grandchildren's names embroidered onto it: Rukia, Renji, Jinta, Hanataro. His long white beard neatly combed. Against his right side lay his wood staff. I rolled my eyes as I watched Aunt Kukaku place a pipe in his left hand. There he was in that frozen, sleeping state; his wizened face captured a brief moment of serenity. In a few minutes, nothing would remain but ash. Somehow that seemed fitting for him. All of us different; all of us joined together in a single moment to say farewell to a man who, for better or worse, molded each one of us.

I felt the tears start to trickle down my cheeks again. My mother squeezed my shoulder, and I think I might have heard my father's breathing hitch. This was it.

One last look.

Goodbye, Yama. _I love you_.


End file.
